Chapter 324: Old Wounds

Fitzgerald simply stared at her. For a long while, he did not move.

His eyes remained fixed on Catherine as though he were trying to find some sign in her expression that would tell him whether she was serious or whether this was some elaborate joke.

His first thought was that it had to be voodoo. Or some bizarre psychological phenomenon. He had heard of stranger things. Conspiracies. Aliens. Giants. Cults. Mass delusions.

But past lives?

That was something he couldn’t wrap his mind around.

And yet, just as on that day in the hospital when Catherine had pointed a gun at him, with that strength in her eyes, he couldn’t simply turn around and walk away.

“If you were my mother…” His voice was quieter now. “Was Maximilian Whitmore my father?”

Catherine drew a deep breath. Her hand instinctively settled over the gentle curve of her belly.

“No.” The answer came softly. “It was Dorian.”

Fitzgerald’s brows drew together.

“He was the King of Velmont. I had to marry him to save my kingdom, Elyndra, after everything went wrong with Maximilian, my fiancé—the second prince of Dravencourt.”

If she was going to tell him the truth, she decided, she might as well tell him all of it, no matter how absurd it sounded.

Once again, Fitzgerald couldn’t move a muscle.

“You were barely three,” Catherine continued. “You were supposed to inherit my kingdom after me. But a faction within the Dravencourt court sent assassins after you.”

Her voice faltered. She lowered her eyes. Even after another lifetime, the memory remained unbearably vivid.

The weight of her little boy in her arms. His small body still and cold, covered in dried blood… The terrible silence afterward.

Her fingers began to tremble.

“Dorian watched you die,” she whispered. “He let it happen to punish me. You had died alone and scared…I’m sorry I left you alone, son…”

Her chest rose sharply. Even now, she could not comprehend how a father could stand by and watch his own child die. And she still felt guilty for leaving him alone.

She didn’t even notice Fitzgerald move until his arms came around her.

Catherine froze. Then she closed her eyes. He held her quietly.

“What happened after?” he asked.

Catherine rested her cheek against his shoulder.

“I thought it was Maximilian. I thought he was responsible, and I went after him.” Her voice was barely audible. “Dorian used my rage against me. He turned my people against each other and pushed my kingdom into despair.”

She swallowed.

“And then he poisoned me.”

Fitzgerald was silent for a moment. “So you never got your revenge.”

“No.”

“Ah.” There was something almost thoughtful in his voice. “So that was what the fight against BioQuant was about.”

He had always wondered about the sheer intensity of the conflict between Catherine Preston and Dorian Blackwood. There had been too many people involved, too much money, too much determination, and far too much hatred for it to have been an ordinary corporate battle.

Apparently, it wasn’t.

“There are others?” he asked.

“Alexander, Sebastian, Bernice, Charlotte…” Catherine’s voice broke. “They were all ruined by Dorian.”

She tightened her arms around Fitzgerald.

He didn’t say anything. His mind was still searching for explanations.

Perhaps it was mass psychosis. Perhaps Catherine was somehow at the center of an elaborate delusion, manipulating everyone around her. History had seen stranger things.

But then there was the lullaby, and the dreams…and the inexplicable familiarity he had always felt around her.

And now, holding her, feeling her warmth beneath his arms, he found it increasingly difficult to dismiss what she was saying simply because it was impossible.

If he had died alone and terrified, could that emptiness have followed him into this life? Had the Rathbourne family’s cold upbringing merely fed something that had already been etched into his soul?

“What do you want from me?”

Catherine pulled back. She looked at him for a moment before gently touching his cheek. “I want you to be happy.” Her thumb brushed lightly beneath his eye. “Nothing more.”

Fitzgerald’s expression softened. “I am happy.”

And he meant it. Perhaps that was what made everything else so difficult to ignore.

He had spent so much of his life believing that something inside him was missing. That perhaps the doctors had been right. That perhaps he was incapable of feeling what other people felt.

Then Catherine had come into his life.

And somehow, everything had changed.

Now, standing there with Catherine’s hand against his cheek, he understood something he hadn’t been able to understand before.

Perhaps he really had stood at a fork in the road, between Catherine and Dorian, back in the hospital after he found out Maximilian was alive.

He had stood between the life that had been offered to him and the darkness he had once believed was inevitable.

And somehow, Samantha had helped him choose. He was walking a different path now. And he was glad he had.

“I’m going to propose to Sammy,” he said.

Catherine’s eyes widened. “William gave his blessing?”

Fitzgerald smiled faintly. “You’re the first person I’ve told.”

He reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out a small box. Then he placed it in her hand.

Catherine opened it. Inside lay a striking red stone surrounded by a halo of white diamonds, set in white gold. It was extravagant, eye-catching, almost shamelessly bold.

“Ruby?” Catherine asked, raising an eyebrow. “I didn’t think this is your style.”

She couldn’t imagine Fitzgerald choosing something so gaudy. Then again… This wasn’t for Fitzgerald. It was for Samantha. And Samantha loved being gaudy.

Catherine looked at the ring again.

He really does know her.

“Red diamond,” Fitzgerald corrected, and for once his smile was almost boyishly bright. “The biggest I could find is only two carats. They’re extraordinarily difficult to procure.”

“Red does suit Samantha.” Catherine smiled. “She’ll love it. She deserves this.”

“You think so?”

For all his usual composure, Fitzgerald suddenly looked nervous. Excited, too, like any man about to ask the woman he loved to spend the rest of her life with him.

Catherine’s heart warmed.

She could see it happening little by little. Fitzgerald was becoming more comfortable with his emotions. He no longer seemed embarrassed by happiness. He no longer seemed to regard affection as something dangerous.

And she was so very happy for him.

“I know so,” she said. “She loves you. She’d say yes even if you proposed with a candy ring.”

Fitzgerald’s smile widened. He looked absurdly pleased with himself. Then, apparently satisfied that the most important matter of the day had been settled, he returned to the couch and picked up his unfinished slice of apple pie.

Catherine laughed softly. She turned toward the foyer and stopped. Maximilian was standing there. He had evidently heard enough.

Their eyes met. He smiled. Catherine smiled back.

Neither of them said a word. They didn’t need to.

She looked at him and felt that familiar warmth spread through her chest.

It seemed to grow stronger with every passing day—not simply because he loved her, but because of the way he loved her… in the trust he gave her, in the care he showed without being asked, in the quiet ways he protected the life they were building together, in the way he never tried to make her smaller so that he could feel bigger.

And perhaps most of all, in the little decisions he made every day—decisions that told her, without a single grand declaration, that her happiness mattered to him.

Catherine looked at her husband and felt her heart swell painfully.

She loved him.

More than she had ever thought possible.

And every day, somehow, she found herself falling a little deeper.

—–

A week later, Catherine was sitting on the porch with her legs stretched out on another chair, simply watching the trees sway in the breeze.

“It’s hot outside. Why don’t you come in?” Maximilian asked.

He handed her a glass of freshly made lemonade before leaning down to kiss her cheek.

“I’m fine here.”

Catherine took a long sip of the ice-cold lemonade, sighing contentedly as the coolness washed down her throat.

Maximilian sat beside her with his own glass. His hand settled gently over her belly, rubbing it absentmindedly for a moment before coming to rest on the arm of the chair.

“I’ve been wondering…”

Maximilian tilted his head.

Whenever his wife said she had been wondering about something, he had learned to brace himself. He never knew what strange thought was about to emerge from that remarkable mind of hers.

“Your mother,” Catherine said. “Not Dr. Morcant. I mean the Queen.”

Maximilian’s expression sobered.

“Even if she believed the seer, what pushed her to hurt you and me?” Catherine asked. “She watched me grow up. It was impossible for her not to know that we cared about each other, even when we were constantly bickering.”

Maximilian looked toward the distant trees.